


Make A Million (Overnight)

by notyouricon



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bang Chan is Trying, Depression, Flashbacks, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pills, Please Don't Hate Me, Remorse, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyouricon/pseuds/notyouricon
Summary: It's been a year, one long cold year. And even though he has everything he could want for, a loving boyfriend, amazing friends, and a good job, Han Jisung still feels numb.





	Make A Million (Overnight)

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! It's been a long while, sorry about that. I was stuck in a lil case of writer's block! I need you (to shut up) should be updated next week! Check it out! Idk why I write so much angst for skiz, but I do, so here we go!
> 
> \--A--

It had been a normal day, wake up, get showered, get dressed, put on the makeup, brush the hair. It passed in a daze, all of the moments blurring into each other, crashing and colliding softly. Chan lay still in the bed, not awake yet, still lost to his dreams. He hoped they were good dreams, Chan didn’t need anymore pain. Jisung however, he couldn’t feel anything, just the cold of the air blowing in through the open window. It made him sad, how he couldn’t feel the want to lay back down, spend just five more minutes beside his lover. Of course he still loved Chan, he would always love the elder, but at the moment it was pushed to the back of his mind, as his demons took over. He had work today, a six hour shift at the corner store, and then he could come home, if he wanted to.   
Leaving the house, Jisung shrugged his jacket on, flipping up the hood to protect his neck and ears from the chill. Hands swinging by his side, Jisung felt his fingers go numb after the first block of walking. It was almost December, so it was around the time that snow would start to fall, and the tears ought to come as well. It would mark one year this year, one year without his dear friend, a year, twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days. Exactly a year since Minho had left, left and took everything with him, except Jisung, and that fact brought tears to his eyes, as he stepped into the tiny convenience store on the corner of two deserted streets.  
He worked his shift with numb fingers and feet, head stuck in a whirlwind of thoughts, none better than any of the others. Customers were few and far between, often coming in only to buy a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of something strong. As he cleaned the aisles, sweeping passively, listening for the little bell on the door, he took notice of rows and rows of small bottles and boxes, just one could take him down, bring him back to a time when things weren’t so bad, when he could sleep at night without nightmares or insomnia to pick from. Would keep Chan safe from having to watch Jisung breakdown all the time. Would keep his friends from worrying anymore. Keep him safe, safe, safe. Fingers number than before, Jisung grabbed a couple packages, shoving them in his jeans pocket.  
Time seemed to pass in seconds rather than hours, and soon Jisung was locking up the shop, turning out the lights, and leaving a scrap of paper taped to his locker for his manager to see, when he came in to check out the sales tonight. He walked, the sharp corners of the box digging into his leg, rubbing against the already raw skin. He might as well get it done and over with, just let go of everything, to keep the others safe and warm and out of harm’s way. He peeled open one cardboard container, shaking the contents around a little, dumping them out in his hand, twelve little capsules, a soft, comforting shade of blue. Unscrewing the cap to his water bottle, he threw his hand up to his mouth, they were bitter, a stark contrast to their candylike looks. He swallowed, they’d kick in soon enough, for now he would keep walking home.  
His feet stumbled up the stairs, clumsy and dragging. The usually dim lights of the hallway were glaringly bright, blinding him, and the floor looked like it was dancing. He remembered, Minho, always dancing, always finding a way to move. When did he stop wanting to move, when did he stop feeling the urge to get up in the mornings? Could Jisung have done something, had he known? If he did, would he have really helped? The questions ran circles in his brain, skirting the edges of rationality and mania. This wasn’t him, Jisung didn’t feel like himself, he felt lost, and the darkness creeping into his mind scared him. He was afraid, but resigned, what could he do now but wait. The pills were probably being absorbed into his bloodstream, and oddly it didn’t feel like enough. He unlocked the door to his and Chan’s apartment, he didn’t even know if his boyfriend was home yet, if he had even left. God, what was he doing? The weight on his shoulders kept pulling Jisung down, dragging him into the pit. Once he stepped over the threshold, he could hear the soft sound of Chan humming, probably sat at the kitchen table with one of his books.   
The rush of dizziness that hit him, as he trudged down the main hallway of the apartment, brought him to his knees, pressing him down into the carpet. Steadying his hands in the rug, he shook his head, hair flopping over his eyes. It was never enough, was it, never good enough, couldn’t even do this right. The voice in Jisung’s head hissed, whispering the dark thoughts and giving them a life of their own, to grow and expand in his mind. Picking himself up, Jisung slid past the kitchen, avoiding his love, avoiding everything, and entering the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. No doubt that Chan had heard him come in, would be coming to see how he was doing after a long day of work. The other box felt heavy in his palm as he pulled it out of his pocket. Hands trembling, he made clumsy work out of the packaging, tearing it open sloppily. His vision blurred, black spots dancing in his peripheral vision, head swirling slower and slower, as the effects of the drugs from earlier sunk into his brain. He dumped out the pills in this box, they looked so innocent, so fragile, who would think that they could kill. He heard footsteps outside the door, and hurriedly choked down the capsules, a quick gulp of water helping to wash them down.   
It felt like an eternity, maybe it was, but to Jisung, that felt like more than enough.

 

\-------------

 

Chan had heard the thud of the door opening, had kept humming, a jovial tune, soft and pretty. He didn’t turn away from his cooking, certain that Jisung would come to him, and joke around a little. The younger boy hadn’t been acting the same, or he had been trying to at least, but there was a sadness there. The hollowness that hadn’t left for almost a year. It is coming up, Chan mused, That must be why. 

 

\-----------

 

It had been a year ago when Lee Minho, Jisung’s closest friend, had committed suicide. Chan and Jisung hadn’t been dating at the time, they were just getting close, and one day Minho didn’t show up to a group lunch. He didn’t answer his phone when they called or texted, and neither of his parents knew where he was. That’s when Jisung’s phone had pinged, with a long-winded message from the missing male.   
FROM: MINMIN  
Dear Jisungie, I know you’re probably worried about me. Don’t worry, please, I won’t be coming back, so there is no need. This is my goodbye, the last farewell. I know that you are blaming yourself, but you shouldn’t, this is not your fault. By the time you get this, I should be dead and gone. Please, remember me when I was happy, when I was me. Love, Minho  
Jisung had started crying instantly, shoulders shaking, even as Chan wrapped an arm around him, and as Woojin had grabbed the phone. Felix, Changbin, and Hyunjin went out to try and find him, calling his phone over and over. Seungmin called the police, telling them what was going on, where Minho could be, and when this had happened, “just five minutes ago, officer.”. Jisung had eventually stopped sobbing, but he was trembling, eyes wide and frozen as the reality of the events sunk in. Chan had been charged with getting him home that night, buckling the younger into the back seat of his car and driving to his house.   
“Chan-hyung?”   
“Yeah, Sungie?”  
“Please stay, don’t.. don’t leave me.”

 

\----------

 

Chan waited for a few minutes, but when his arms remained empty, and with no sign of Jisung in the kitchen or the living room, he went looking. Noticing the bathroom door was closed, when he had left it open earlier, he figured Jisung would be in there. He strode up to the door, giving a soft tap on the door, “Jisungie? You in there?” No reply. Chan knocked a little harder, repeating himself. After the fourth or fifth try he was more than a little worried, this time he tried the doorknob, and just his luck, it was unlocked.   
Opening the door, he received the shock of his life. There was no way to describe it, not for Chan, his heart broke and pounded ever harder. Dropping to his knees, he reached out and touched Jisung’s neck, feeling around softly, until he found what he was looking for. A pulse, thrumming soft and unsteady and slow against his fingers. His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, and dialled the police. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice from shaking as he explained what happened, the woman on the other end explained that the ambulance would be there in five minutes.   
He waited, for the tears to come, but he couldn’t feel anything right now, Chan only felt numb. This must’ve been how Jisung felt, when Minho died, lost as though in a dream. He vaguely heard the sirens, and only left Jisung’s side to open the door for the paramedics. They flooded the apartment, there seemed to be a million of them, but Chan couldn’t bring himself to count them. They looked at the box of sleeping medicine next to Jisung, and then checked for the pulse, counting, counting, counting. The younger boy had soon been lifted and laid down onto the stretcher. Chan followed the men down to an ambulance, and answered their questions. No, Jisung hadn’t let him know. Yes, Jisung was depressed. About a year. I’m his boyfriend. Yes, I can call his parents. No. No. Yes. No. Definitely not. Sure. I don’t know.   
I don’t know. 

 

\----------

 

Time passed indiscernibly. A phone rang, and rang, and rang. Shrill against the sterile white noise of the lobby, Chan had called Jisung’s parents, they picked up on the third ring. They were on vacation, all the way in America, but they were trying to book a flight to get back home. Next he had messaged the groupchat, not telling them what had happened, he would do that in person, but to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Woojin arrived first, setting down in the chair next to Chan, and finally the tears came, silently streaking down his cheeks. Hyunjin and Seungmin filed in, Jeongin in tow, they sat in the same waiting area. Next came Changbin, a worried look plastered onto his face, and a confused Felix trailing behind him. When the group was assembled, and everyone had sat down, and Chan’s tears had dissipated, he stood. His legs were a little shaky, but he managed to stay upright. “Guys,” his voice was trying to be steady, but failing. “Jisung, he, he-- I don’t know what he was thinking, but, he tried to, to commit suicide.” Chan’s voice faded to a whisper towards the end. Once the words sunk in, and the group realized what Chan had said, there were gasps and murmurs of disbelief.   
He fell back into his seat, shoulders heavy with fear and worry. He could hear the others talking, but he didn’t have the energy to process their words. “Chan? Channie?” Someone, Woojin-hyung probably, shook his arm. “What did he do? Did, did you know that he was, ya’know?”  
“I didn’t, I had no idea, he hid it so well.” Chan let his head fall back, staring at the perforated ceiling tiles. “He took, they said, he took at least two packages of sleeping medication. They said they needed to pump his stomach.” He wondered, did his voice sound as numb as he felt. I don’t know how to live without you now, Jisung. You can’t leave me now. They sat in those stiff chairs, in that cold waiting room, for another hour. Two hours. Two and a half.  
“Bang Chan? For Han Jisung?” A voice called from a doorway, and half the group bolted upright, the younger three had fallen asleep earlier, and had to be shaken awake before the boys could be led back into the winding corridors of the hospital. The nurse who led them through the halls explained what she could, mostly to Chan and Woojin, and told them about what they had done for Jisung. “He was in pretty bad shape when he came in. But we pumped his stomach, and started an IV for glucose and nutrients. He should wake up tomorrow afternoon, maybe earlier.”  
After walking down twenty identical hallways, they were ushered into a small room. Equipment beeped, as though yelling at them for intruding on the peace. Chan instantly took the chair next to the bed, reaching out for Jisung’s hand, usually so warm, they were icy in the chill air of the sterile building. The others gathered around, finding fold out chairs, or a place on the floor. Felix curled up by Changbin’s legs, leaning his head on the older boy’s knees. Seungmin leaned his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder.   
“Please wake up, please, Jisungie.” Chan whispered into the still air. 

 

\---------

 

Once, twice, and again. Jisung knew that it hadn’t worked, knew that he had failed the simplest thing. Why couldn’t they just give up on him? Oh, yeah, they wanted him here. They wanted him. Here. They wanted him.   
Every once in a while, they would whisper little things to him, words of encouragement. You can do it Jisung-yah, just hang on for us. Hyung? Please don’t leave us, please don’t leave Chan. And a broken whisper, “Jisungie, baby, I know you’re hurting, I know it must be bad. But I don’t think I can do this without you, I don’t know how I would go on without you.” Desperate, that’s what Chan sounded like.   
But Jisung was flying, drifting through a sky full of soft clouds, and the bluest blue to ever be. He didn’t want to leave, he just wanted to fall into this sky forever. He couldn’t see the ground yet, surely he was safe. But he could feel a hand in his, even though it wasn’t there, and feel a head on his chest, but when he looked he saw nothing.   
If he stayed here, would he be okay, would he survive? More importantly, if he stayed here, what would happen to Chan? He thought he had wanted to protect the elder, wanted to save him, but all he could do was hurt people. He felt his chest tighten, and he tried to breathe deeply, pulling in a large gasping breath. It lasted barely a moment, but it was the worst pain he had ever felt, he knew it by name, could identify it anywhere, heartbreak.

 

\---------

 

It had been three days, three days since Chan had found Jisung passed out in a bathroom. Jisung’s parents had arrived the day before, tears in their eyes, and choked sobs in their throats. The truth was, no one had seen it coming, no one had known that he was planning this. No one knew that he felt this way, no one knew. And that just made everything that much worse. 

Chan was left with the responsibility of explaining to Jisung’s mother why he had tried to overdose. He told her everything he knew, and his thoughts as to why it might’ve happened. He knew that the anniversary must have been the reason, the one explanation as to why Jisung was having those thoughts. 

 

\---------

 

“Breaking news just in, the body of local teenager Lee Minho has just been found by Han River. The boy was found just ten minutes ago, after he was called in missing by his friends.”

Han Jisung couldn’t believe his ears, they were too late, they hadn’t saved him, they had failed. Jisung had failed. Clenching his eyes shut, Jisung pressed tighter to Chan, and the older boy turned the television off. Drowning in the darkness, Jisung let his tears fall, soaking into Chan’s shirt. 

Soft words, and gentle touches eventually lulled him into sleep. Eyes puffy and red, breath ragged. Chan hated that Jisung was broken, wanted to heal and fix every broken bit of the younger boy. 

 

\--------

 

A week had passed, and the nurses said that Jisung was doing well, that he could wake up anytime, and so Chan stayed with him. Day and night, only leaving to take showers and sometimes a meal. The other boys would visit, and give sympathetic smiles. Woojin came in the most, often bringing food with him, and Hyunjin. 

“Chan, you know he’s gonna wake up? All the doctors say so.” The oldest boy reassured him, reaching over to smooth Jisung’s hair out of his face. “Anytime in the next week, he’s a fighter, he can do this.” 

“God, I hope so. Hyung, I really don’t want to do this without him, I don’t want to imagine a world without him. I know he loved Minho like a brother, but I never knew he would go this far. I thought I was doing everything right. But I didn’t even notice when he was falling apart.” Chan sighed, clutching tighter to his boyfriend’s hand.

Little did they know that Jisung could hear their conversation, and knew that even if it meant his own suffering, he could not let Chan go on like this. He couldn’t bear to see the boy he loved tear himself apart over him. Especially when he did nothing wrong, he wanted to wipe the tears away, and drown himself in Chan over and over again. He missed the familiar touch, missed the love and light and good times. He would try harder and be better, he would get better, if it meant that Chan would be okay.

Jisung channeled all his energy into his hands, trying desperately to squeeze his fingers and return the pressure he was receiving from his lover. He focused and tried and pushed and dug deep, and then, his fingers twitched, he no longer floated he flew, pushing himself along through the air, towards the place he knew as home. 

Chan blinked, what had happened, Jisung, he had held his hand. “Hyung! He moved, he squeezed, squeezed his hand!” Chan cheered, breathless and in shock. He wanted to get up and dance, wanted to throw a party and join a parade. This had to be a sign, Jisung must’ve heard him. It took another hour for another sign to show up, a twitch of the eyelids, and then it really sunk in, Jisung was waking up. Chan took a shower, trying to make the time pass quicker. He called their friends, and Jisung’s parents had once again returned to the States, on business, and he called them as well to let them know the news.

“You can do it, baby, I know you can. Be strong for me, okay?” Chan whispered, letting himself sink back into the chair beside the bed. It felt like years had passed, even if it had only been a few days, not even a month. He would wait a million years though, if it meant he could be with Jisung. 

 

\----------

 

Approximately two hours later, the boys had assembled at the hospital once more, this time in better spirits then before. And at exactly 11:11 in the morning, Han Jisung’s eyes blinked open, shutting tightly against the fluorescent lighting on the ceiling. He heard muffled gasps, and cheers and cries of joy. And when he turned to his side, there he was, the one reason he had come back, Bang Chan, the boy he couldn’t stand to leave alone. 

“You came home, I missed you.” Chan whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek.   
“I’ll always come back to you. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Jisung said, voice rough from disuse. And he meant it, he didn’t think he could stand to see Chan so broken, and finally he understood, that he couldn’t just leave, not when he had so many people who wanted him here. He only wished that Minho had realized that too, wished that he had done something, but there hadn’t been anything he could do. It wouldn’t have mattered what he said, Minho wouldn’t have been able to listen. 

“I love you, and I am so, so very sorry. I know that you must’ve been worried, and I hate that I made you feel that way.” Jisung whispers, trying to find the words to convey his sorrow, and how his apologies would never be enough. He continued on in such manner, voice cracking and breaths choked on the tears that poured down his cheeks. He wished he would’ve seen clearly, wish he could feel things like a normal human, give the people around him everything they deserve. 

“Don’t be sorry, please don’t. I love you, and it isn’t your fault, you can’t help the thoughts in your head.” Chan reassured, pulling Jisung to him, cradling the younger man, and rubbing the shakiness out of his shoulders. It isn’t long before the pair is swarmed by the other six boys, all in a rush to talk to Jisung and make him know how much they love and missed him. 

In that moment, Jisung knew, that if not for himself, then for the others, he had to get better. He would be better and he would get help, because they haven’t seen the best of him yet, or the last of him.


End file.
